


like porgs in the rain

by blacksandunderstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi - Fandom, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Gen, Meditation, Silly, porgs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-22 04:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12473992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: . . . in which the author riffs wildly (and mostly incorrectly) on The Last Jedi by having porgs cross time and space to pester everyone of note in the Star Wars universe, and then all these moments are lost . . .





	1. meditation buddies

Meditation didn’t come naturally to Rey. She was having trouble figuring out how to be still, and her mind balked at the suggestion of emptiness. She yearned for distraction. There was a whole new planet around her, a place she’d never been or so much as heard of until scarcely a month ago, and the entire galaxy beyond that, all suddenly accessible. And if her task had been to explore, to build something, to work, to fly a ship, or almost anything else, it would’ve been easy. But she didn’t know how to just be.

And she was discovering, more and more, that there was quite a lot she didn’t know.

For example, the spot she’d chosen to embark on her latest attempt at mindfulness. It was a rock. It looked comfortable, and far enough back from the ocean to be dry at least. But after a few hours her estimation was proving wrong on both counts. Now she was sitting, soaked and shivering, on her ill chosen rock, and trying and failing to find any tranquility inside of her at all.

“What am I doing?” she said to herself.

Mostly to herself. She wasn’t quite alone on the beach. For the last hour or so one of the local shorebirds—porgs were what Luke called them—had been perched nearby and seemed to be watching her while she did her best to ignore it.

Occasionally, it screeched in her direction.

Rey hissed through clenched teeth, then took in and let out a deep breath and forced herself to close her eyes.

The instructions had been simple. Find a spot, sit there, stay there, then close your eyes, relax, empty your mind, and reach out with your senses. They didn’t say anything about having a sore ass and stiff legs and a crick in your neck. They contained no guidance whatsoever if one or all of those steps turned out to be impossible.

Still, she had to at least keep trying. This was her task for the day—the whole day. Luke had been very specific about that. She wasn’t supposed to come back until sunset.

So she slowed her breathing and tried to think of nothing beyond the ocean thundering against the rocky coast, the grasp of wet clothes sticking to her skin, and the scent of musty stones and the sea.

For a while nothing happened, which might be a good thing, might not—she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t really sure what was supposed to happen at all. Luke hadn’t told her. And then, for a moment so brief she thought at first she imagined it, she could sense the presence of the bird next to her, as if she’d suddenly grown a new limb, except it wasn’t attached to her body and was somehow insubstantial—like a suggestion rather than a physical entity.

Then, just as she started to feel elated over her minor success, another wave struck high enough to throw cold saltwater spray on her, and whatever she might have felt vanished.

Her scream of frustration, long and shrill, reverberated off the rocky cliffs and startled all the nearby birds into brief, ungainly flight.

Except that one curious porg, which was still there when she opened her eyes, still watching with head tilted and one huge eye regarding her critically—or so she imagined. She glowered at it while wiping water out of her eyes.

“Go away.”

It screeched again and shook its wings at her, but was otherwise unmoved.


	2. an unexpected passenger

Chewbacca looked up from the fuse array when he heard a distant scream of frustration. He listened to it echo off the rocky cliffs surrounding the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s landing spot and fade away into the background rumble of crashing ocean waves. Then he murmured softly, invoking a Shyriiwook lament oft repeated by Wookiees the galaxy over, and turned back to his work.

_Some trees are more difficult to climb than others._

The array he’d been working on, like so many pieces of the _Falcon_ , was a hodgepodge of tech from half a dozen different factories and eras all mashed together into a barely functioning yet strangely efficient whole. Doing maintenance on it was difficult work, fiddly work, even for his deft claws. It was the sort of thing he would’ve once been happy to leave for Han. Wookiee hands were surprisingly adept, but there were some tasks where they just couldn’t match a nimble human touch.

He made a few final adjustments and put the array down on his improvised outdoor workbench, satisfied that it was once more in working order.

Normally he would be doing this work inside the ship, but as of late it hadn’t felt like its old comfortably familiar self. Besides, he rather liked the air on Ahch-To; the moisture reminded him of the jungles of home and gave his pelt a pleasant frizzy feel. He strode out from under the cover of the _Falcon_ ’s hull and stood for a while in the wind, letting it tease his fur.

And a row of tiny winged creatures continued watching him from their perches on and behind nearby rocks, their oversized black eyes following his every move. 

Chewbacca regarded them with suspicion and let out a low rumble of annoyance. 

The porgs were unmoved by the warning. One of them broke ranks, flying awkwardly down off its rock and skidding and rolling to a stop at Chewie’s shaggy feet, where it picked itself up and shook out its dense coat of white and gray feathers.

Though calling what they did flying—or even gliding—was grasping for a poetry that wasn’t there. What they really did was crash. Every flight was a slowly unfolding disaster. And they were almost suicidally curious, always watching, always exploring. Chewie kept finding them inside the _Falcon_. He’d eaten a few in the hopes of discouraging the others, but they seemed unperturbed by the prospect of gruesome death. If they understood the implicit threat, they didn’t care.

The intrepid porg chirruped at him, showing a row of tiny needle-sharp teeth. This particular specimen, like many of the species, had a streak of orange feathers trailing behind each eye. And up close, those staring black eyes showed a thin band of brown iris around the immense pupil.

Chewie growled and bared his own teeth in return, and the porg waddled closer on its long, skinny legs, deliberated a moment, then bit his foot. Its teeth weren’t long enough to get through his fur, but the intent was clear.

For all that they were pests, he couldn’t help admiring the audacity.

He gently nudged the porg aside with his foot and started back towards the _Falcon_ , only to pause at the base of the landing ramp, glance back, and see that the silly bird was following him. When it had waddled close enough, it tried to bite him once more. Chewie bent over—way over—and snatched the porg up. Then, holding it between both of his massive hairy paws, he roared in its face. 

It wasn’t possible for the creature’s eyes to open any wider, but it did blink rapidly and waggle its wings in the face of the aural assault. And as the last mighty notes of the Wookiee’s bellow were finally overcome by the sound of the sea, the porg took in a huge breath, puffing its body out so that it resembled nothing so much as a feathery ball, and screeched its own battle cry.

In the relative quiet that followed, they regarded one another.

And while he wouldn’t rule out eating the thing later, Chewie decided that, for the moment, this kind of bravery was worth rewarding. Tucking the porg into the shaggy crook of one arm, he turned and loped up the ramp. He wasn’t sure exactly what the little birds ate, but there was probably something it’d like in the galley.

The porg squeaked happily as it settled in for the ride.


	3. losing the high ground

Kylo Ren opened his eyes and didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten here.

Lava ran in torrents on either side of him, its heat distorting the air. The sulfurous smell of it filled his nostrils and seared his lungs. His helmet did nothing against the toxic brew, and he impulsively ripped it off and threw it away into the lava, where it rolled over the surface for an instant before melting in a gout of flame.

He was standing on a jagged island of black volcanic glass which jutted up between the rivers of molten rock. Confused and angry, he whirled about, flinging droplets of sweat from his already soaked hair, but he saw nothing familiar. There were no ships, no recognizable landmarks, only lava fields—broken up here and there by other stands of glass—spreading away to the horizon, with a sky full of roiling dark clouds above.

More sweat dripped off his nose and hissed into steam as it touched the obsidian beneath his feet.

Then, with an abruptness that made his breath catch in his chest, something changed. He knew this instinctively. He could feel it—a disturbance in the Force unlike any he’d ever felt before. With deliberate slowness, he took the lightsaber from his belt and, holding it at his side, thumbed the activation stud. The weapon came to life in his hands, the crimson blade crackling and growling over the deep background rumble of molten rivers.

He turned.

The dark helmeted figure which loomed over him was utterly familiar even in the hellish light. It was an armored visage he’d seen countless times before, though never in a form so alive and present. In its hands it held a lightsaber of its own, shiny and chrome where his was black and scuffed. And while he watched, enraptured, the figure raised the hilt. But when the saber turned on, instead of the red he’d expected, the blade was blue.

Blue. Like that scavenger girl’s had been. Like the weapon that belonged to his family—that belonged to him.

Suddenly he wasn’t so certain about whom he faced. “Who are you?” he shouted.

But the black figure had no reply for him. It raised the plasma blade, then swung, cutting an electric blue arc through the smoky air.

Kylo raised his own weapon in answer, holding it in one hand with contemptuous bravado. He was thinking of the girl, and how weak he’d been in that moment to have lost to her. That wasn’t going to happen again. This time there was no injury to slow him down.

The sabers crashed together.

The strength of the blow was terrific, overwhelming. He had to grab his hilt with both hands just to avoid having the paired blades twisted back into his face. He staggered, almost falling to one knee. Sparks flew from the crossed blades and stung his cheeks.

“Ben,” said the figure, this Vader who was not Vader, in a whispering voice Kylo didn’t recognize.

“That’s not my name!”

“Ben . . .”

Kylo yelled and tried to push his opponent back, but there was no resisting the immense pressure of that blue blade. It drove down on him like death. Finally he gave and darted back, breaking the bind.

The air between the two of them rippled. The intense heat pressed in on all sides. Struggling to breathe, Kylo scowled at his opponent and pointed with the tip of his saber. “Who are you?” he rasped, painfully aware of the desperation in his voice.

“I’m no one.”

Again, the quiet voice coming from that slotted mask wasn’t one Kylo knew. But the words it spoke clawed at his mind, burning like the noxious air in his throat. He wiped sweat from his stinging eyes with an unsteady hand. “Answer me!”

The thing with Vader’s shape brought its saber up to a guard position and remained steadfastly silent. There wasn’t even the wheeze of the suit’s respirator.

Kylo let out a hoarse scream of frustration, then gripped his lightsaber hilt with both hands. But, at the very moment he gathered himself to charge, the river off to his left hissed and cracked, erupting in a spray of molten rock that flecked the ground in front of him with globs of rapidly cooling lava. Behind the ensuing blast of heat and smoke, the Vader figure wavered, its glowing blade warping and twisting like lightning.

Several superheated chunks of rock struck Kylo’s shoulder and side. He felt the pain, but distantly. It wouldn’t divert him. He wouldn’t let it. Raising his saber again, he charged, cleared the smoking field of embers in one quick leap, and brought his humming red blade around in a vicious sweep.

He felt a brief moment of resistance as the plasma struck something solid. There was the squeal of metal and plastic being vaporized. And he found himself standing in front of a motionless opponent. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing in the thick, searing air. The blue blade flickered and died before his eyes.

Then the helmet fell away, rolling to a stop near Kylo’s boots. The rest of the armored figure toppled slowly after it.

And this . . . this Kylo recognized.

His uncle had told him the story of the cave on Dagobah: how he’d entered it, full of confidence in his new abilities, only to face down a shadowy Vader of his own in a battle that had foreshadowed so much of what was to come.

So Kylo knew what would happen next. With a sneering smile on his face, he knelt down beside that black helmet and picked it up. When it split open in his hands, the sudden crack and parting of metal didn’t startle him.

And inside, where he expected to see his own face or something else of similar metaphorical significance, there was a small bird-like creature. It stared at him with two gigantic eyes, like black liquid orbs, set above a flat button nose.

He stared back.

Then before he could react, the creature lunged at his hand and sunk its teeth into the flap of skin between this thumb and forefinger. Kylo shook his arm, but the creature refused to relinquish its grip.

As the flesh of his hand began to burn beneath the needling pain of the creature’s teeth, he started to scream . . .

. . . and then he woke.

He was alone, in his bed, his clothes clinging to his sweat soaked skin. He sat up. The lava fields and their choking fumes were gone. There was no helmet, no headless corpse draped over glossy obsidian. But he barely noticed his dimly lit empty quarters or the way his hands were clenched and shaking. All he could see were those eyes, as though they were still peering at him from out of the darkness.

In his confusion, as he gradually emerged from that hazy state somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, he couldn’t help feeling there truly was something else in the room with him.

He slid out of bed and held out his hand. A fraction of a second later, the comfortingly solid weight of his lightsaber was in his palm. He lit up the blade and held it before him, his eyes darting to and fro, looking for the intruder he was sure would be here somewhere.

But no matter how many times he whirled about, casting the spare decorations of his quarters in shifting crimson light, there was nothing to be found.

Eventually he shut off the saber and stood alone in the faint glow of starlight through the porthole over his bed. Without the low hum of the active weapon, the room was utterly silent.

What did it mean?

And he knew, with breathtaking certainty, that he had nobody in the entire universe he could ask.


	4. another stubborn fool

Standing in the broad mouth of the outpost, Leia watched the immense black gate as it slowly descended in front of her. The reflected sunlight from the salt flats outside was overwhelming, almost too bright to look at, and she squinted in the glare. Several times she had to avert her eyes, feeling the brilliance like a stabbing pain at her temple.

But she always raised her gaze again.

She never could look away, no matter how much she might want to. It wasn’t something she could allow herself to do.

Around her, any of Crait’s wildlife with enough sense to recognize the coming threat was fleeing into the safety of the base. Mostly the animals ignored her as they streamed past, though a few spared her a wary glance. They were desperate to get away, and she couldn’t blame them for that any more than she could the people who’d chosen not to stand with her.

Like them, she could feel what was gathering on the horizon—the pure, biting hatred of it.

She went on watching. The door ground lower, driven by ancient machinery which rumbled and groaned as it turned gears in a mechanism that was nearly as old as she was. The light gradually dimmed.

Running away was a sensible choice, sometimes the only choice. She’d certainly done enough running for one lifetime. But it’d always seemed to her that, eventually, there would be nowhere left to go. Battles could only be put off for so long, and it looked like this one was going to happen here.

Perhaps it would be the last.

It was difficult, in moments like these, not to think of everything she’d lost in this fight. Her son turned against her. Her once-husband dead. Her brother hiding from his grief over all that’d gone wrong. And at her back only the barest remaining scraps of the rebellious people of the galaxy.

She felt as though her heart had slowed, with grief and exhaustion, with every life lost since that day she’d watched her home and everyone she loved most burned down to ashes and left floating in the vacuum of space.

There were so many places she’d never visit again, whether because they no longer existed or because she couldn’t bear the weight of the memories they held.

There were so many names she couldn’t forget, and so many more that she knew with absolute certainty she’d never be able to remember.

Her whole life was a monument to a war that never ended.

More than anything, such thoughts made her feel tired. By all rights this war should have been over years ago, when she still possessed the energy to do this sort of thing, and when her family had been something like whole.

Then, as the light faded in front of her, she became aware of something rustling around the hem of her robe. She thought perhaps one of the fleeing creatures had finally taken an interest in her, but when she looked down, her gaze took in a rather sad looking little bird standing on thin legs and returning her critical stare with a pair of big, unfathomable black eyes. It appeared to be using her skirt to hide behind while it gently waved its stubby wings.

“Well, aren’t you a cute little bastard,” she said. “You should run, too, if you know what’s good for you.”

The creature blinked and made a hesitant and distinctly un-birdlike gurgling sound, but did not come from out from behind her robes.

“Suit yourself,” she said, raising her head. “We can be stubborn fools together.”

The gate descended, and she saw the last sliver of light disappear underneath that wall of black metal. There was one last mighty gasp of mechanical noise, then silence. For an instant all was dark before, in the space of a heartbeat, lights began flickering to life behind her.

It was automatic systems kicking in, of course—pure mindless response to stimuli—but in that moment she decided to believe otherwise. Her gaze returned to the silly, stupid bird, which she found was still regarding her with its huge eyes. “Time to fight,” she said, in a quiet voice.

It chirped.

And when she left, it followed.


	5. love at first sight

Hux had spent several minutes preparing himself, but he still flinched when the hologram projector finally flickered to life and the oversized visage of Supreme Leader Snoke appeared in front of him.

As always, he thought he saw the faintest of sneers twist that scarred mouth, though on such a mangled face it was impossible to be sure. Keeping his own expression carefully blank, he saluted. “Supreme Leader.”

Snoke regarded him for a moment, letting the silence drag on just long enough to become pointed—another reminder that all were at the beck and call of the Supreme Leader. “General,” he said at last, his gravelly voice given a distinct hiss by the speakers. “I am less than pleased. After recent failures, I had hoped for improvement, for evidence of a deeper understanding to emerge. Yet now I receive word that there is _disorder_ in the ranks.”

Disorder. At hearing the word, Hux stiffened. He met the translucent full color gaze of Snoke’s projection. A muscle along his jaw would be quivering. That was his tell, he knew, just as he knew that Snoke could see it.

There had been disorder. Not only a loss of confidence in the Order’s leadership among the officers, which was at least understandable after losing Starkiller Base, but outright disagreement. Because of that, they’d been slow in marshaling the fleet for a counterattack, and the Resistance had been given valuable time to ready a defense, if they were smart enough to guess what was coming.

Hux wasn’t entirely convinced they were. As far as he could tell, the Resistance had been the beneficiaries of some luck. That was all. It wouldn’t last. But he doubted Snoke would care to hear his opinions on the matter. No, he would need to keep such thoughts to himself for the time being.

Then, as he opened his mouth to recite the explanation he’d readied earlier, he felt _something_ brush against the polished leather of his boots. He hesitated. 

There was a squeak, as though his boots had been rubbed together.

Except he hadn’t moved.

“Well?” Snoke growled. “My patience wears thin, General. With you and with your war mach—” He went abruptly silent. Then, far more distressingly, his hologram leaned forward and his eyes narrowed. “What . . . was that?”

Hux swallowed. “What was what, Supreme Leader?”

“There was something, a moment ago—some kind artifact in your display.”

“I see nothing, Supreme Leader,” said Hux. “The connection appears fine.”

He glanced at the communication display, but there was no amount of money, power, or indeed anything else in the galaxy which could’ve convinced him to look any further down at that moment. Events were definitely happening around his feet. He could feel it. But he didn’t want to know what it was.

Snoke pointed to where Hux’s holographic boots would be on the other side of the communication. “There it is again.”

This time the sound which came from the region of Hux’s feet was less of a squeak and more of a grumble.

“And I heard something,” Snoke went on. “Are you perhaps passing near a neutron star or some other source of interference?”

“I don’t believe so, Supreme Leader.”

Sitting back in his throne, Snoke steepled his fingers. He regarded Hux with a worrying blue-eyed stare. “I am absolutely certain I am seeing a disruption. Are you implying I am _imagining_ it?”

“Certainly not, Supreme Leader.”

In spite of a valiant effort to do otherwise, Hux’s face twitched. He blinked. A single droplet of sweat had coalesced on his forehead, just under his perfectly parted hair, and dripped down his nose. It immediately itched, and he quickly wiped it away on his sleeve.

Were the atmospheric controls malfunctioning as well? He wasn’t sure, but he knew with absolute certainty that once he figured out what was going on, there would be someone to hold responsible—and that that person would be made to regret their incompetence.

Then the squeaking started up again.

“Bah,” said Snoke, waving a dismissive hand. “Bring your forces into order, General. I expect the strike on D’Qar to be carried out swiftly and with utmost competence. This pathetic resistance must be crushed.” He reached outside the scope of the hologram projector, then hesitated. “And sort out these technical problems. I will not tolerate such _trivial_ —” what was left of his upper lip curled in disgust— “problems either.”

The hologram flickered and wavered, briefly appearing grossly distorted, then folded up and vanished into nothingness.

Hux blew out a long, slow, and above all frustrated breath through his nose. When he was certain there would be no further communication, he looked down.

A small, slightly obese bird was making noises at his boots. It appeared to be staring at its reflection in the polished leather, and the sounds issuing from its blunt snout were, unless Hux was mistaken, of a distinctly amorous nature. While he watched, it rubbed a cheek against its reflection. There was a squeak—exactly like that of leather being rubbed together.

Hux made a face. Certainly it must be someone’s lost pet, or perhaps an attempt at a prank. At least it hadn’t yet tried to actually mate with his footwear. He could imagine—no, truly, he couldn’t imagine trying to explain that to Snoke.

Stepping back quickly, Hux pointed at one of the stormtroopers standing guard just inside the communications room. “You. Remove this . . . thing, whatever it is.”

“Yes, sir,” said the trooper, then hesitated. “Should I have it disposed of, General?”

“What? Um . . .” Hux frowned. The bird was gamely attempting to waddle back to his boots. “No. No, have it taken down to engineering. Or better yet, we have some scientists aboard, don’t we? Give it to them. I want to know what it is. If this is part of some plot, I want to know about it.”

He scowled as he watched the trooper snatch up the bird, which yowled and struggled while it was carried out of the room.

Whatever was happening, this was simply unacceptable. It was _all_ unacceptable.

With a parade ground precise turn, he spun to face the communications officer. The man had, of course, seen the whole debacle as it’d unfolded, and Hux briefly considered whether it would be better to have him executed. But the officer sank down into his seat when he saw the expression on his superior’s face.

It was the look of a man who knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“Hail the fleet captains,” said Hux, sternly. “It’s time everything is returned to proper order.”


	6. a copilot conundrum

The sudden kick of acceleration pushed Poe Dameron back into the cushioned seat of his T-70 X-wing fighter. Within moments the view from his cockpit had changed from a blue cloud-streaked sky to an empty dark blue before finally melting fully into pure black speckled all over with stars.

He let out a small whoop of joy. He was finally back where he belonged. From behind him, he heard BB-8 echo his cry with a cheerful squeal. “That’s right, buddy,” he said with a grin. “Time to do some real work.”

BB-8 chirped agreement as Poe swung the X-wing over into a roughly orbital trajectory. Then he rolled the fighter until he saw the bright, milky orb of Crait slide into view above him. The rest of his squadron was just visible as pink comets streaking up from the surface, their engine glow the only part of them bright enough to stand out against the planet’s high albedo salt flats.

Of course, they were also visible on his scopes, but it wasn’t the same. There was a cold beauty to things up here, out beyond the strict domain of gravity. And it reminded him that there were also people in those ships—people he cared about, and who cared about him.

While he watched, the trails brightened and took on an orange hue as the collection of fighters accelerated up to speeds sufficient to break away from Crait’s gravity well. A chill ran through his body at the sight. If there was anything more lovely in the galaxy, he hadn’t seen it.

His comm crackled to life. “Getting a bit excited there, boss?” That was Snap’s voice.

Then Jessika’s voice cut in: “He just wants to pad his count before the heavies catch up and do the real work.”

Poe broke into another grin. He couldn’t help it. This was what he’d missed. Being stuck on the ground with the admirals and the generals got you so mired in politics that you forgot what it was like to be in a fight. Here they were, backed into a corner, struggling to survive, and his people were joking around like it was a training run.

Stars above, he hadn’t realized how much he needed to be back here.

“Cut the chatter, kids,” he said, unable to keep amusement out of his voice. But he immediately reached down to throttle his own fighter back. Pava was right. They had a few bombers in the mix today, and it wouldn’t be good to leave them too far behind. “Less than five minutes out now. Get into formation.”

A chorus of acknowledgments greeted his order.

He turned his gaze ahead. Out there somewhere far beyond his ability to see was the First Order’s fleet. The X-wing’s sensors showed them as an array of blips tagged in a red which indicated confirmed hostiles. There was a lot of red. Too much to fight with the ships they currently had.

The real battle was going to be on the ground, he knew. Their mission was to buy prep time for their forces back at base. And it was going to be one hell of a fight.

BB-8 whistled mournfully. Poe knew exactly what he meant. The droid was seeing the same readouts he was. “We’ll be fine,” said Poe. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

His statement was met with a skeptical trill capped off by a firm double beep, which was also easily understood. But Poe said nothing. From the displays, he could see the fiesty little astromech was already working at tuning power levels. Good, he thought. That was all you could do in times like these—focus on whatever was in your power to change.

Speaking of which . . .

The cockpit clock said it was just about 1500 hours standard time.

He slipped a hand under the console on his right, reaching for the utility compartment which held his nutrient bar. But before he could pull it open, he felt something sting his fingers. He yanked his hand back and inspected his flight gloves. Had something shorted out? Was there even anything down there with enough power? There were no scorch marks, at least.

“Hey, BB-8,” he said. “Could you run a quick diagnostic on the consoles up here? I think we might have a loose wire or something.”

He heard the droid’s answering warble, but he was still focused on his hand. He was almost sure he could see a pair of little tears in the fabric, like bite marks.

What the hell?

Biting his lip, he reached down again, past the compartment, and felt around. His questing fingers found something squishy, which he grabbed and pulled out.

Poe found himself face to face with a very confused looking bird. Its gigantic black eyes, faintly lit by Crait’s reflected light, stared at him. He stared back.

“Uhh . . . cancel the diagnostic,” he said. “I think I found the problem.”

It was also a nervous bird, which had behaved as nervous animals often do. Poe discovered this when the smell finally wafted up from the cockpit floor. He made a sour face. “Now is really not a good time for this, little guy.”

As the bird began to wiggle and kick its legs, there was an alarmed screech from BB-8.

“I don’t know where it came from,” said Poe, his voice rising while he struggled to keep ahold of the creature. Its dense coat of feathers made it surprisingly slippery. “There were a lot of critters running around in the hanger. Didn’t you do a life scan?”

After a brief, guilty silence, the droid squeaked apologetically.

Then the comm went active again, the initial burst of static startling Poe into nearly dropping the bird, which waggled its short wings and screeched as he bobbled it.

“Black Leader, you having some trouble or just enjoying the scenery?” said Jessika’s voice through the helmet speakers.

Poe regained a firm grip on the evasive avian. “I’m not any happier about this than you are,” he told it. He tucked the creature in the crook of one arm so his other was free, and thumbed the comm button. “Minor technical difficulties,” he said, aware that the bird’s continued cries were also being broadcast.

All the squadron’s communication discipline vanished at once.

“What the hell is that?” said Kun.

“Doesn’t sound like technical difficulties to me,” said Snap.

“Is that a porg?” added one of the bomber pilots. “The Falcon brought back a few of them.”

“You mean those fat little birds?” Jessika almost squealed with delight. “They’re so cute.”

“They are kinda cute,” said Snap begrudgingly. “Did it stow away?”

Even BB-8 added some warbling commentary. And over it all was the sound of the porg’s wailing.

Poe let out an exasperated sigh and lifted the bird up to his helmet. He eyed it through the orange-tinted visor. “I’m going to need you to calm down,” he said gently.

With one last weak gurgle, the porg went silent. It blinked slowly, staring into Poe’s eyes.

“That’s better,” said Poe. “Now . . . what am I going to do with you?”

There was an immediate answering whistle from behind him.

“No, I’m not going to space it. Don’t worry. I’ll just, uh . . .”

He looked around. X-wing cockpits weren’t exactly known for a luxurious excess of storage capacity. He could perhaps tuck the creature into one of the storage compartments, though it’d be a tight fit, and he didn’t really want to risk injuring the poor thing just because it was stupid enough to think his ship was a good place to hide.

But then, hell, now that he thought about to it, maybe it was actually smart in a accidental sort of way. There was going to be a lot of violence in the next few hours. Where else was going to be safer than in his starfighter?

He smiled at the porg, which cooed softly. “I’m going to need both hands free,” he said. “So if you don’t mind . . ."

He deposited the bird on his lap, then pulled his life support box to one side and partially opened his vest. With a little maneuvering he managed to stuff the porg between the vest and flight suit. It wiggled a bit but seemed content enough.

BB-8 emitted a tremulous whistle followed by a beep.

“Next time run the life scan, then,” said Poe, “and we won’t have this problem.”

He chuckled at the droid’s rude response, then got his hands back on the controls. The fighter responded immediately to his touch, rolling over and rotating Crait’s mirror-bright surface out of view. Now, so long as the porg didn’t decide to make a fuss, they were back in business. He hit the comm. “Fun’s over. If you’re out of formation still, you’re officially buying for everyone next time we got a cantina handy. Any takers?”

There was no response.

“That’s what I like to hear. Less than two minutes. Get those S-foil controls ready if you got ‘em, and switch off squad channel.”

From somewhere out in the void came transmissions from the other squadron leaders, reporting in. Poe nodded to himself. Legions of red dots were joining the larger red blips on his scopes. “Here we go,” he said to himself, feeling that familiar surge of excitement.

When he could just begin to make out the glittering wings of TIE fighters against the broad swathe of stars ahead, he gave the order for locking foils and did so himself. Then he throttled up, knowing the other fighters would follow his lead to form a screen in front of the bombers.

As the X-wing accelerated, BB-8 screeched an enthusiastic war cry. The porg added a yowled battle cry of its own. And Poe grinned.

The battle was on.


	7. a much needed rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some aftermath of/implied animal cruelty and a brief mention of blood in this one. Nothing too gruesome, and it all turns out okay, but skip if sensitive to that.

Finn slowed down when he heard the cries, which sounded very much like something—or someone—in distress. He glanced around anxiously as he looked for the source of the noises.

The corridor he’d been following wasn’t much different from a hundred others in the First Order vessel: all austere gray, polished surfaces, stark lighting, and not so much as a stray fiber out of its chosen place.

The sheer calculated nature of it made him nervous. It was a silly thought, he knew. All starships were designed before they were built. But there was something especially monstrous in the cold precision of everything the First Order made, as though they weren’t designed by or for living beings, and had no room in them for the messiness that seemed to him an inherent and important part of being alive.

Or maybe it was just the knowledge that the Order would surely kill him if they found him here. On the list of galactic vacation spots that he definitely hadn’t spent any time putting together, being back here was right down at the bottom with visiting the rathtar homeworld.

Rose, who was a few paces further down the hall, glared back at him from under her stolen officer’s cap. “What’re you doing?” she hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to keep her voice quiet. Neither of them wanted any extra attention.

Finn held up a placating hand. “Hold up a sec.”

“We need to keep moving. If they catch us back here—”

“I know, I know . . . Just gimme a second. I think I hear something.”

One of the nearby rooms was definitely the source of the cries. Ignoring Rose’s continued quiet protests, Finn sidled over and stood in front of the door where the sound was clearest. It wasn’t someone crying, but it had that same kind of soft, helpless harmonic to it. He reached for the controls, then remembered how he was dressed in the same First Order finery as his companions and stood up straighter.

No matter how he felt, here he wasn’t Finn the Resistance infiltrator, he was FN-2187 the First Order officer.

He just had to hope nobody would notice how much he was sweating under the uniform.

The door slid open with a crisp swish. Inside was a dimly lit laboratory of some kind. A line of tables covered in bulky scientific equipment cut through the center of the room. Finn saw microscopes and spectrometers and quite a few devices he didn’t recognize. And between them displays blinked and flickered. Most were in standby mode, though a few showed status readouts too arcane for him to decipher.

But what really caught his attention were the half dozen small cages laid out in a row across a counter set against the back wall. All of them were empty save for one, where a dark form lay behind the wire mesh.

He stepped in, and flinched when the main lights automatically switched on. After a quick check told him there were no surveillance cameras, he stalked down to the occupied cage. The noises were definitely coming from within. This close they sounded more like moans, with that unmistakable quaver of a living being in pain.

They turned out to be coming from a chubby little avian creature laying on its back in the bottom of the cage and blinking up at the ceiling with immense black eyes.

It had no beak, only a blunt muzzle, and its jaw hung open as it took slow, wheezing breaths, showing a mouthful of tiny teeth and a pink tongue. The feathers on its belly were white, while most of the rest were a mottled gray, and here and there patches were missing altogether. Jagged wounds, some vivid and new, others old and scarred over, crisscrossed the bare strips of pale hide.

“What the hell?” whispered Finn, horrified at the sight. Just when he thought he’d gotten a grip on the full extent of the Order’s cruelty, they found a way to surprise him.

At the sound of his voice, the bird turned its head slightly to look at him. It made another feeble moan.

Finn unlatched the cage door and tried to open it, but there was a tray of tools blocking the way. Some of them looked surgical in nature. Dried blood coated a few. He stared at them for a moment, then swept the tray aside, sending it crashing to the floor. The metal instruments scattered across the deck with a clanging racket.

“What is that thing?” said Rose, from somewhere behind him.

“I don’t know,” said Finn as he swung the mesh door open. “But they were doing some kind of experiments on it, torturing it or something.”

He hesitantly touched the creature, expecting that it might lash out. But either it was too weak or it sensed his intentions, because the extent of its reaction was to utter another soft cry. He slid his fingers under its body and picked it up. It wiggled its stubby wings against his hands.

He heard Rose’s exasperated sigh. “Just leave it alone and let’s get out of here,” she said. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“I’m not leaving it,” said Finn, cradling the bird to his chest and turning to glare at Rose.

“Why not?”

Finn started to say something, hesitated, glanced down at the creature in his arms, then said, “I—I can’t.”

Rose crossed her arms, giving him an incredulous look, as though she were questioning his present grip on sanity. “It’s just an animal. And you’re going to get us killed over it.”

“It didn’t choose this,” said Finn, quietly. “We can’t just leave it here. It isn’t right.”

There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her, about the First Order and about what they’d done to him, but she was right about one thing—there wasn’t any time.

The bird mewled weakly as it nestled against Finn’s uniform shirt.

Rose stared, her skeptical gaze going from Finn to the bird and back again. She pressed her lips together, tilted her head. Then her expression softened. “Fine,” she said, nodding in resignation. “Let’s see if there’s something around here to carry it in.”


	8. questionable dietary choices

Embers wafted up from the fire, driven by a cold wind blowing in from the surrounding ocean. Luke Skywalker watched the pinpricks of light as they floated up and faded to nothing against the black sky. Clouds had rolled in earlier, so there were no stars above and nothing but firelight to illuminate the grounds around him.

He thought he could smell distant rain on the breeze, but he’d been wrong about that before. Being raised on a desert planet with all of two types of weather hadn’t done much for his ability to predict things like rain or thunderstorms.

In front of him a pan sat over the fire, its contents sizzling and spitting.

If rain did come, he’d have to run for it. The plain combination of fish and vegetable matter he was frying up had a dubious enough taste and texture already without adding sogginess to the mix. And simply throwing it out wasn’t an option.

The locals gave him most of his food now, as the rations he’d originally brought with him had run out long ago. They’d struggled with his request to leave the meat out, unable to understand why he wouldn’t want to eat porg, which they’d assured him was especially delicious. Letting them include fish and fish oil had been a compromise.

Eventually he took a spoon from his lap and gave the mixture a quick stir before tentatively sniffing at it.

At least the aroma wasn’t unpleasant. But he missed having some variety in his diet. There’d even been times lately when he caught himself daydreaming about the emergency rations, and as someone who’d eaten them often and knew how they tasted, he couldn’t think of a surer sign that he’d been here too long.

Then, as he considered the finer points of his diet, there came a rattling in the tangled web that was the energy binding together all the life around him—a presence once strange to him and now unmistakable.

His new apprentice. The one he didn’t want.

He sensed Rey’s approach long before he heard her footsteps on the rocks. In his mind, her emotions burned brighter than the fire in front of him, roiling and churning like the waves which crashed against the island’s rocky shores. It was nothing outright dangerous, no poisonous hate, but it puzzled him.

Meditation practice really shouldn’t have inspired that many strong feelings.

He frowned as she tramped over, her steps dragging. She slumped down next to the fire, breathing hard from the long walk up the cliffs. Sweat glistened on her forehead. Without a word, she reached over and carefully plucked a sliver of lightly browned fish out of the pan.

Luke eyed her as she chewed. He stroked his beard, lips pursed. By now he knew better than to directly ask how her practice had gone when her feelings were in such turmoil. That was a sure way to get a glib or dismissive reply. Usually it was better to let her speak when she was ready.

He found himself wondering if he’d been so temperamental at her age. Had Owen and Beru felt the same way about his moods, all those years ago? He couldn’t remember anymore.

“Some people might ask before they take a person’s food,” he said casually.

Rey looked up. Her eyes narrowed on him. “There’s plenty,” she said, through her mouthful of fish.

Luke poked at the pan’s contents with the spoon, the picture of innocence. “I’m just saying, do you even know what you’re eating right now?”

“Food,” she replied flatly, her gaze dropping to the fire.

With his attention firmly on the pan, Luke said, “You know the porgs are edible, right?”

When he finally glanced at Rey, she was staring at him. He tilted his head towards her and gave her a meaningful look.

Rey froze, her jaw halting mid-chew. Her expression gradually opened into one of pure, wide-eyed horror as she realized what Luke was implying. Holding her hands up, she leaned over in a panic and spat out what was left of the fish. “Ugh!” she cried, cringing and shaking her head. A string of colorful invective followed.

Luke watched impassively while this scene played out. Once Rey was finished cursing, he offered an apologetic shrug, but she responded with another shake of her head, her lip curled in obvious disgust. “That’s horrible! How could anyone eat them?”

“I hear they’re quite tasty,” said Luke.

His words hung in the air for a while. Rey went very quiet, and Luke fancied he could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she worked it out. He was glad for the beard; it made keeping a blank expression on his face so much easier.

“You _hear_ they are?” said Rey, suspicion dripping from every syllable.

“Oh yes. _I_ don’t eat them. But the caretakers do.”

“So what I was eating . . .”

“Was fish.”

There was another silence, then Rey said, “That was a cruel trick.”

Luke grinned and tossed her the spoon, which she caught. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be if I threw out all your food on the Falcon and made you eat some horrible stew I concocted out of all the worst tasting things on the planet.” At Rey’s bewildered look, he added, “Remind me to tell you about Dagobah sometime.”

Rey rolled her eyes, but Luke was almost certain he caught a brief glimpse of amusement cross her face. Then she looked back to the pan, scrutinizing the steaming jumble with evident wariness. “So there’s really no porg in here?”

“None at all, unless the caretakers lied to me.”

“Huh,” she said, hesitating with spoon in hand. “You’ve got bowls?”

Luke passed her a couple, and she filled them both and handed one back.

They ate together, listening to the crackling flames and the wind rustling their clothes and the background rumble of ocean waves as the water slowly wore away stone and soil alike. Neither of them said a word until they were nearly finished and Rey was toying with the remains of her meal.

“I couldn’t do it,” she said, staring into her bowl. “Every time I try to clear my head, I just—I can’t do it. It reminds me of being back—back where I grew up.” She gave the bowl a shake, then quietly added, “I spent a lot of time alone there.”

Luke nodded. That explained all the messy feelings before, he thought. Rey hadn’t shared very much about her childhood, but it wasn’t hard to guess at all the things she left unsaid.

And, truthfully, he was also more than a bit relieved to learn there was something she wasn’t good at. The raw strength of her connection to the Force could be unnerving sometimes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Next time you can start with something simpler, like lifting rocks.”

Rey shot him a skeptical look, eyebrows raised. “Lifting rocks? Really?”

“Yes, really,” said Luke. “That’s how I trained.” He stood up and shook out his robe. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I’ll tell you all about Dagobah and the time I got my X-wing stuck in a swamp.”

Together they put out the fire and carried the remains of their meal back into Luke’s hut. Then they sat and talked until Rey was struggling to keep her eyes open and Luke had to shoo her out. She went back to the Falcon to try and get some sleep while he stayed up for a while afterward, waiting to see if he’d been right about the rain.


	9. of helmet thieves and girl crushes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering I haven't read the Poe Dameron comics, I probably shouldn't be doing this. But I've never let that stop me before. Why should it now? Also, hopefully this makes up for tagging these characters earlier without actually including them.

Jessika Pava walked in circles around the open expanse of the hanger bay. There wasn’t much else to do. 

She’d already finished all the maintenance checks on her X-wing, visited the ground crew to make sure they were going to run every diagnostic they had time for, dropped by the mess hall to scarf down some of the slop they were serving, and poked her head into the pilot’s barracks to see if taking a nap was in the cards. 

It hadn’t been.

And though she could’ve probably found a quieter and more isolated spot than the barracks and caught some sleep—because she was certainly tired enough—she didn’t relish the idea of being packed away in any of the tiny rooms which were available.

She wasn’t finding the Crait base very much to her liking. It was dingy and dusty and smelled like decay and animal waste and, worst of all, consisted mostly of a maze of passageways and small rooms with low ceilings that seemed to press down on you no matter where you went. There was a sense of weight to the mountains above which hadn’t existed on any of the other ships or bases where she’d spent time.

Here, she felt trapped in those little spaces, and she didn’t like feeling trapped. So she walked in the only part of the base which didn’t feel that way, and tried not to think about how worn down she was.

Her winding path took her past munitions caches and storage drums, through parked starfighters and astromechs docked at recharging stations, and between the various crews who were responsible for organizing everything.

Beings shouted in half a dozen different languages. Sparks flew from hastily made repairs. Harsh odors of fuel, lubricant, and scorched metal filled the air. The hanger bustled with activity. Everyone knew what was coming, and nobody wanted to be caught unprepared when the battle finally began.

And all Jessika wanted was to be flying somewhere far away, with an X-wing’s controls in her hands, an open sky ahead, and her friends at her back. Or, barring that, maybe just a place to sleep which didn’t feel it was going to fall down on her.

She was on her third or fourth circuit—she’d lost count in the haze of fatigue—when it occurred to her that there was one place she could go. And once she’d finally looped around again to the portion of flight deck where her X-wing lay, she plodded over to it and stood with a hand resting against the fuselage.

It was a silly idea, of course. Fighters weren’t renowned for their legroom. You couldn’t even tilt the seat back. And if she did fall asleep in the cockpit, there would probably be some wicked stiffness to deal with afterward.

But she couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

She dragged herself up the small ladder to the cockpit and flopped down into the pilot’s seat. She touched a control. The canopy descended, then sealed with a slight hiss. Suddenly it was quiet.

Without her flight helmet in the way, she could turn her head slightly and lean it against the headrest. Then if she kind of half twisted herself over onto her side a little, well . . . it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

Just a few minutes, she told herself as she yawned. I’ll feel better.

She woke to a loud tapping sound. She jerked, startled, and looked around, blinking sleepily until she realized where she was. Then she groaned. Her entire body ached. It felt like she’d been dumped out of an X-wing rather than sleeping in one.

Ugh. What was I thinking?

The sound happened again, catching her attention. Someone was knocking on the canopy, and Jessika recognized the smiling face peering through the glass. With a beleaguered sigh, she hit the release.

Karé Kun peeked sideways under the canopy as it slowly rose. The smirk she wore was almost unbearably smug, even tilted over. “Something wrong with the bunks, Jess?”

“Don’t start,” said Jessika.

“All I’m saying, that’s a good way to get a real lovely headache,” said Karé. She pulled herself up onto the X-wing’s nose and sat just in front of the cockpit, her legs dangling over the side.

Jessika sat up, arching her back and groaning again. “Head’s fine. Back, not so much.”

“What are you doing in there, anyway? The barracks are a little dusty, sure, but . . .”

“I said, don’t start.”

“Fine, fine,” said Karé, holding her hands up. “Keep your secrets. You want something for the pain though? I got a few perigen patches in one of these pockets.”

“I’ll live.”

“Suit yourself.”

Karé stared down at the hanger deck, one hand toying with the messy blond braids hanging at the nape of her neck. It wasn’t pouting, not exactly. But Jessika knew that look. She grumbled. “The barracks were a little too claustrophobic for my tastes, okay?”

She got a nod and a sympathetic smile in return. By now all the surviving members of Black Squadron knew about her childhood.

“Sorry,” said Karé. “Didn’t mean to poke a sore spot.”

“Yeah, you did,” said Jessika, but without any rancor. She reached behind her and tried massaging the tight knot of muscle at the small of her back. It didn’t seem to help much.

“Okay, maybe a little. You gotta talk to people, Pava. Open up a bit. Otherwise you’re gonna end up old and friendless.”

“You mean the way you open up to Snap?”

“Sure,” said Karé, smirking. “If that’s your sort of thing.”

Jessika narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just, I’ve never seen you with anyone before. Not entirely sure what fuels your X-wing, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh stars,” groaned Jessica. “I think I feel that headache coming on.”

Then, to her relief, another voice cut in from somewhere on the hanger floor: “We talking about fueling X-wings?”

Karé looked down at voice’s owner and grinned. “We sure are.” She gave a sarcastic wave. “Hey, Old Man.”

The top of Temmin Wexley’s head floated into view alongside the cockpit. “I didn’t realize this was the designated hangout area,” he said.

“Oh, I caught her napping,” said Karé, indicating with a tilt of her head towards Jessika.

“In the flight seat?” said Temmin. “The last time I did that my back hurt so bad I had to hit up a medical droid.”

Jessika eyed Karé and sighed in exasperation. “You gonna announce it over the intercom next? Might as well let the whole base know while you’re at it.”

“Come on up,” said Karé, scooting over. She patted a spot next to her. If she heard Jessika’s complaints, she was pretending she hadn’t. “Help me keep Jessika company, since she’s apparently having so much trouble staying awake.”

Temmin hopped onto the ladder and clambered up. Jessika watched him settle into the proffered seat. Then he and Karé kissed, and Jessika looked away. It was only a quick peck, but watching felt a little too much like intruding on something.

“Just need Poe and we’ll have the whole crew together again,” said Temmin.

“Where is he, anyway?” said Jessika, glad for the change of subject. “I haven’t seen him around.”

“Stuck with the bigwigs, last I heard,” said Karé. “Ever since his demotion.”

Jessika nodded. Between her insomnia and the jangle of nerves she’d completely forgotten. “Did either of you ever get the story behind that?” she said.

“Well, I heard he refused one of Holdo’s orders,” said Temmin

“Really?” said Karé. “I heard it was Leia that did it, because of that stunt he pulled during the evacuation.”

There was a moment of thoughtful quiet between them.

“Both?” said Temmin.

Karé laughed. “Probably.”

“That sounds about right,” said Jessika, smiling. She rubbed her face and sat back against the flight seat, her smile fading. Despite her earlier correction, she was beginning to feel a subtle pressure behind her eyes which usually meant there was a headache in her imminent future.

Damn it, she thought. Maybe one of those patches wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Then, just as she was about to ask, she saw Karé point somewhere off into the expanse of the hanger and say, “What the hell are those?”

Jessika sat up again, her eyes following the direction of Karé’s finger. “What are what?”

“Those,” said Karé.

There were several small creatures stumping their way across the deck scarcely a meter away from the X-wing. They were fat, feathered, and waddled along on two skinny legs.

“Those?” said Temmin. “I don’t know what they’re called, but the _Falcon_ brought back a few of them from wherever it was Skywalker was hiding out. They’re some kind of bird, I think.”

Jessika watched the avian column troop slowly past her X-wing’s port S-foils and disappear behind the laser cannons. They were cute little things, what with the way they fluttered their short wings as they walked and their seemingly unsteady gait, although their huge black eyes added a slightly unsettling note to an otherwise charming appearance.

One of them had its foot caught in the straps of a flight helmet and was dragging the helmet along as it trailed after the others. It was the last to vanish from view.

“It’s a shame they didn’t bring back that scavenger girl, too,” said Karé. “I saw someone making googly eyes at her back on D’Qar.” 

She leaned around Temmin and looked right at Jessika, who immediately developed an intense interest in the state of her flight jacket sleeves. But it was too late. Jessika felt herself blushing, and knew her cheeks would give her away. 

Damn it.

She’d been disappointed when the _Millennium Falcon_ returned without Luke Skywalker aboard. It was a chance, or so she’d thought, to meet a legendary hero, and someone she’d admired since childhood.

But she’d also been surprised to discover just how crestfallen she felt when Rey hadn’t come back either. They’d only shared one brief conversation on D’Qar. Rey had been understandably distracted by the condition of her injured friend, and then with all the excitement over the destruction of Starkiller and discovering the map, there hadn’t been time for anything else.

How had Karé even noticed?

“Really?” said Temmin distractedly. He was still following the progress of the wayward birds. “Who was that?”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Karé, with a knowing smile on her face. Her eyes hadn’t left Jessika.

“When do you think they’ll call us up?” Jessika blurted out, in the hopes of discouraging any further teasing.

Temmin leaned back, running a hand through his ruffled black hair. “Probably soon . . . Speaking of which—I should go make sure the ground crews have got my ride ready.” He gave Karé another quick kiss on the cheek, then slid off onto the ladder, where he paused. “I’ll see you both up there,” he added quietly.

He was looking at Karé as he stood there, and she returned his gaze with an unmistakable ferocity—love, concern, determination, all fighting to express themselves.

Jessika thought that it was the sort of look which, if someone ever directed it at her, would have made her think twice about ever leaving again, even to do something she loved.

She turned her attention to the X-wing’s environmental controls, idly turning the temperature control knob back and forth. The console had no power, but she did it anyway, because once again she felt as though she was intruding somewhere she didn’t belong.

After Temmin had taken his leave, Karé slipped over, closer to the cockpit. “Hey,” she said, her voice suddenly gentle.

“What?” said Jessika. She continued twisting the knob.

There was the sound of rustling fabric. “Hand.”

Jessika looked up, smiled, and held out her hand, palm down. Karé slapped the coin-sized gray painkiller patch she was holding onto the back of Jessika’s hand, then grasped it.

“There we go. And don’t worry. We’re all gonna live through this, and your scavenger girl will come back so you can have many more painfully awkward conversations with her.” She gave Jessika’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Right?”

“Right.”

Karé released her grip and spun over onto the ladder. “I’ll make sure of it,” she said fiercely. Then she slapped the side of the X-wing just below the cockpit twice, climbed down to the hanger deck, and was gone.

Jessika was left sitting on the pilot’s seat, contemplating the current state of her life. At least the perigen was fast acting stuff. She could already feel her incipient headache fading. She made a mental note to thank Karé later.

“All pilots to their ships!” a voice blared over the base intercom. “First Order vessels dropping out of hyperspace in system. All pilots to their ships!”

Well, so much for introspection, Jessika told herself, as the alarm sirens began to wail. She looked around for her flight helmet, and frowned when she didn’t find it.

Where had she left it?

And that’s when she remembered: the tangled up little bird! She must’ve left the helmet somewhere they could reach it.

She cursed herself while scrambling out of the cockpit, nearly slipped off the ladder on her way down, and hit the deck running, headed in the same direction as the line of tiny footprints pressed into the layer of salt and dust which seemed to coat everything here. She saw the birds in the distance, the slowpoke still dragging her helmet along behind it. She pointed.

“Stop that bird!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is wrong. It's all wrong. Every single chapter. None of it makes any sense, porgs are apparently time lords, and it probably won't fit in any meaningful way with the eventual film except by accident. But I guess that's okay because I had fun writing it and, well, to quote Pablo Hidalgo: "None of this is canon."


End file.
